


Fall of the Second Sun

by FNDocMainWrites



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wasteland AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25044481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FNDocMainWrites/pseuds/FNDocMainWrites
Summary: Lost in a collapsed world, Simon "Ghost" Riley and Gary "Roach" Sanderson are forced to fend for themselves while grasping onto the last wisps of hope.
Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay well, I caved. This is gonna be more than one chapter lol, but I will say this might have slow upload because I haven't fully developed this AU, but I was quite proud of how it's looking so far. I've got chapter two already in progress but I'm not quite sure how long it's going to be. Think of this as an apology for my absence but since I'm free from school, maybe my work ethic will get better?

The world is clouded in a mist of dusk, ambience and uncertainty as former Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley looked on into the endless horizon. His status as a Lieutenant had meant nothing after the fall of Task Force 141 and just about the rest of the eastern world. Everything had fallen into a state of anarchy after a worldwide dispute that erupted into mass bloodshed and violence. The Task Force had been unable to prevent it all, resulting in the destruction of order that wasn’t anything close to order in Ghost’s eyes. After the explosions had quieted that night Ghost had awoken to a changed world, masked to the point where he barely recognized it. Everywhere he went cities were ghost towns (to which he unironically humored himself by traversing through them willingly, it was the only way to maintain his sanity), he learned the hard way that everyone he came across was twisted into the most basic concept of Social Darwinism-not that it was any different from what he was used to-and came across many close calls. 

He’d been camped out in a near collapsed building, which appeared to be an abandoned housing complex judged by the various rooms that hadn’t caved in being filled with personal items that had been left behind. Mostly junk, but the image that people had used to live here with peaceful lives ached within him. He wasn’t completely alone, which he was secretly thankful for. But it still hurt nonetheless at the thought of being unable to rebuild a broken world. Glancing behind him, Gary “Roach” Sanderson slept, curled up in a ball on top of a partially dirtied mattress. Scraps of his uniform still clung to the clothing he wore, evidently sewn on seemingly as old sentiment to the good ol’ days.

Ghost couldn’t really blame him for doing so. He was beginning to miss what he had been offered before everything was lost.

The events were hazy in his mind, but he vaguely remembered setting out into an old factory with his old squadmates before being forced to flee without the support of others. That was the first indicator everything was going to hell. He soon became separated from his team, before losing his footing and coincidentally landing into what looked to be a bomb shelter, but he had blacked out before he could verify. When he had come to, all forms of communication were gone, lost in the blowing wind. He’d sustained minor scrapes; lucky for the situation he found himself in. He was completely alone, and forced to traverse the seemingly never ending chasm that was the bomb shelter now that he was trapped within. He remembered that he had lost track of time, maybe he had been trapped there for two days without food or water before coming across abandoned provisions that he quickly ravaged upon. He felt himself losing hope, wanting to give up and sleep like the rest of the world had done. But it wasn’t long before he had a heartfelt reunion with Roach, nearly walking alongside death as dehydration had attacked his body. After narrowly saving his life, the younger operator had filled in the missing pieces, confirming the fresh post-apocalyptic state the world had entered just days earlier. 

But that was a year ago. Now Ghost had become accustomed to the changed way of life, learning to look out for no one but himself and Roach. It wasn’t like it was much different from the life he’d lived before… But it rightfully had felt so to him. 

He was keeping watch, in case scavengers had the thought to snoop around their building that they themselves carefully combed through, suppressed handguns clutched between their fingers tightly. He entertained the thought that his superior, John “Soap” MacTavish would sarcastically comment on his rigidness, straight as a dog’s hind leg; the thickly accented voice ripping through his ears with amusement. But there were no friendly quips or jabs to be shared. He hadn’t seen the Scotsman since just before the fall. Deep down he was sure that he was still out there, possibly fighting for his life alongside their other squadmate and close friend, John Price. 

He glanced back at the blackened sky, now covered in a sheet of stars, the sun having set just about an hour ago. It used to be a rare sight to see the twinkling terrain, blocked by lights of a bustling city, but nowadays gloomy clouds were the only competition. Ghost sighed, holding onto his sniper rifle tightly between his hands. The wind had died down two hours ago, leaving the ghost town of whatever European city they were in in near silence. The occasional rustling of displaced wildlife and collapse of age old debris echoed through the emptied streets and alleyways, creating an ominous yet blank white noise that Ghost’s mind blocked out. 

Behind him, Roach groaned, shifting his body until he was lying flat on his back as he stretched his unused muscles. The satisfying pop in his bones clicked in Ghost’s ears as he set his gaze on an empty storage yard meters away. He hadn’t paid heed to it at all, but now it secretly piqued his interest.

“It’s not your turn for watch ya know,” Ghost stated aloud, cocking his head as he looked through his scope. He adjusted the dial, scanning the shattered windows of the main building of what appeared to be a vacant factory. The industrial building loomed breathlessly, towering above the split steel containers and crumbled oil tankers, pieced together in an array of dull black.

Roach rubbed at his eyes, yawning quietly.

“Still got another two hours of watch left, if you’re still tired from the trip, I can take your shift. Not much to see anyway. This place is a natural ghost town.”

The younger operator sat up, crawling towards his pack and fumbling with its locks. He pulled out a thermos, no doubt the same one filled with fresh, cold water from their last supply run. Shuffling towards Ghost, he sat himself down next to him, laying his own sniper across his lap. Sipping conservatively from the container, he mutely offered it to the older operator.

“Nah mate. What’s yours is yours. Ya earned it fair and square. But thanks.” Roach shrugged, twisting the cap back on and glancing up at the stars. The wistful and longing look in his eyes made Ghost crack a smile.

“Somethin’ as beautiful as this happened before eh?” The brunet shifted his gaze.

“You remember?” 

“Just now. Ya never have that look on your face unless you’re seein’ some good stuff up there in the sky. I could never forget how much ya love lookin’ at the stars.”

Roach stared at his lap, picking at the dried bits of dirt and grass caking his trousers, “it’s what we have left.”

“Yeah. But it makes it all the more beautiful doesn’t it? Get all refreshed lookin’ at something that made ya happy back then and still does now. Like seein’ an old sight for sore eyes. It’s nice to have somethin’ to keep your sanity in check,” Ghost smiled, grasping at the younger operator’s hand for several seconds. Roach returned the expression.

“Simon,” Roach called, breaking the silence after half an hour had passed, “do you… Do you miss the others?”

“You mean Soap, Price, Nik and the rest?”

An affirming nod came his way.

“Ya, been thinkin’ about them lately. How they’re probably fightin’ their own battles, strugglin’ to survive and get by with what they have. Makes me wonder if we’ll ever see em’ someday. But if either of them could survive the shit from back then, they’ll get by.”

Roach smiled, running his fingertips along a dried piece of dangling ivy. The light of the moon wasn’t glaring down on them, the shadows provided them a great deal of cover. Ghost normally wouldn’t allow this kind of tender moment, especially being so out in the open with a huge glaring weakness. But something told Ghost that he could let loose for now. Wordlessly, he slipped his fingers under his balaclava-the only thing he basically had of sentimental value since pre-fall-and began pulling the fabric off of his head. The skull-pattern was mostly faded and stitched together in several places after multiple firefights, but despite its less than favorable condition, Ghost wouldn’t dare toss the thing out. After all, Roach had so generously mended the thing in free time that was meant for him. That, and he had become so attached to the garb of cloth. The skull grinned at him, reminding him of when things were just slightly better, to which he quickly mused the fact that if committing several acts of violence was considered ‘better’, he’d have to pick up a new hobby.

“Is it torn again?” Roach leaned closer, peering at the intact balaclava. It was slightly discolored in several places, but still keeping the fear and menacing factor into play.

“Nah love, it’s been in great condition since ya fixed it up,” he replied, “just thought I’d breathe in some fresh air since we got a moment to spare.” He picked up his sniper between his hands, once again setting his sights on the old factory.

“I think we should investigate that old factory,” Ghost murmured, noting at the locked front entrance, “think there might be somethin’ good in there, could also make for a stash or somethin’ if we plan to stay here for a bit longer.”

Roach squinted, staring into the dark void, “in a few hours or tomorrow night?”

The older operator thought for a moment, “haven’t seen anyone creepin’ around for the last four days. Think if we head on out now we’ll get a head start on the snoopin’. If ya aren’t too exhausted I’ve found a sniper’s nest where ya can be on overwatch, unless ya want to be the one pokin’ around.”

“They always called you the Ghost for a reason,” Roach joked, earning a hushed chuckle.

“They always called _you_ the Roach for a reason. I’ll see ya on overwatch, then, Bug Face.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...My work ethic did not get better. I'm not dead, I swear D:  
> I got caught up in school, and I spent some time in between to build up motivation to whittle at this little by little. And I found some time before doing college applications to do the final push to finishing this chapter. Boy do I hope this isn't as dead as I think it is... Hmm.
> 
> (Thanks for being patient if you remember this story at all :)

It wasn’t unusual for Ghost to be poking around an abandoned building searching for supplies, it was all he could really do to not keep himself from dying of boredom. Truthfully he was hoping to leave this miserable city as soon as possible. In reality the two were hoping to return to Hereford, possibly finding other fellow SAS soldiers still standing and if not, useful supplies that they could stash somewhere else if they really needed it. Deep down he ached to return home again. Although he never really stayed at Hereford for very long since his days in the one-four-one, he always looked back to his time as an actual Lieutenant. The humid, overcast days beating down on him as his muscles burned; sweat dripping down the back of his neck as boots thumped against the earth in rhythm. 

But he knew he should be looking past those days, some things were best kept in the past.

Ghost wasn’t the kind of person to lose hope, he always took on challenges with the best glow of confidence. Moving on was his biggest challenge, the idea of letting go had made him want to vomit, things weren’t handed to him so easily, so learning to walk away from it all left him with unease. It always left one question in his mind, one that he couldn’t quite make disappear.

He tapped his earpiece. He’d kept it from when he was trapped in the shelter, still fully intact and capable of use. 

“Alright Roach, you see me on the west side?” He glanced up at the vantage point with which the former Sergeant utilized. The glint of the scope beamed straight at him.

“Gonna breach in through from the side entrance, you should be able to see the first and second floors through the shattered windows. I already checked to see if there were any other visitors, but better safe than sorry.” Holding his gun close, he carefully clasped a hand over the rusted handle. The brittle door creaked open with an agonizing groan, giving way to reveal a dusty and forgotten factory. Pieces of rusted scrap metal and shards of glass crunched under his boots as he carefully checked his corners. He doubted that anyone would waste time in this ghostly building, but he remained vigilant, remembering his time at the Georgian-Russian border. 

“First floor clear, gonna check the second floor,” he murmured, testing his footing on a stair rung. It didn’t give way to his weight, but it certainly was worn with rust that it looked as if it could fall through with any sudden movement. At the top of the stairs a subtle glint caught his eye. Pulling it free with his open hand revealed a set of rusted keys.

“Keys huh. If it’s worth anything, they probably lead to somethin’ important.”

Roach’s voice crackled to life, but remained a soft, airy whisper.

“There’s another staircase at the far end of the factory… Looks to lead downstairs.”

The idea of disappearing from the younger operator’s line of sight made Ghost feel uneasy, something about it had struck a wrong chord in him. But something about this place had struck interest in him, and Ghost didn’t want to pass up such an opportunity. 

“I’ll take a look, but I’ll be out of your line of sight. If you don’t hear from me… then shit hit the fan.”

“Be safe.”

Inhaling a deep breath, Ghost reached towards his belt, grasping for the night vision goggles he scavenged off a corpse several weeks prior to their arrival. Glancing at the staircase leading downwards, he began to take note of the almost unnatural feeling of darkness swallowing the basement four steps down. Slotting the goggles over his head, he tested his footing on the steps. With a long groan before settling against the sudden weight, the staircase creaked under his boots as he carefully scanned his surroundings. Large but mostly rotted wooden boxes obscured his vision, occupying a majority of the space in what appeared to be a storage room. Soft skittering noises blanketed the floor, along with quiet squeaks as he reached the ground floor. An uneasy warning shivered through his body.

“Roach, this doesn’t look good. Feels like something’s wrong. Better get down ‘ere quick… I have a feeling something really important is down ‘ere.”

Continuing forward, the operator took note of the arrangement of the boxes around him. It was almost as if they had been moved recently. Streaks of wheel trails creasing through the dust layed on the ground, slashed fresh against the cold concrete. His boots clicked against the floor, and as he neared a corner, something was screaming at him in his mind to turn back. 

“Ghost… I’m right on the stairs. Don’t do anything reckless,” Roach whispered, “I can’t see you down there.”

Ghost bit at his lip. He didn’t like the eerie silence of a corner. He had milliseconds to choose to respond, or check his corner and allow something to grab at him. He didn’t trust the rusted staircase either. Especially if Roach rushed down them in panic; There was a possibility they could cave in from the stress of weight and rust. 

_ ‘No. I trust him. I always will,”  _ He pressed forward, swiftly whipping around the corner. He’d have about half a second to react, he was sure of that. In the darkness, something lunged at him; His first instinct was to take a step back; His second to fire. 

He did just that, but the figure had a longer range of grip than Ghost anticipated, and he felt the pull already tugging him along. Ghost not for a second let go of the grip he held on his gun, and with what remaining balance he had, he pushed his weight forward. That had caught the perpetrator off guard, and Ghost didn’t waste any time profiting off this revelation. This put Ghost on top, with the blackened figure wedged between his legs. 

With all his might, he brought down the butt of his gun, knocking out his attacker in one fell swoop.

He felt himself breathing hard. When had that happened? Surely time hadn’t passed so far ahead. His mind barely processed the thought of other possible attackers. His eyes adjusted to the darkness in front of him, and the bare movement of two other attackers drew upon him, and this time Ghost wasn’t going to let himself fall back first onto the concrete flooring again. In another splitting second the hairs on the back of his neck raised as he sensed another presence behind him; His mind immediately turned to the worst. But he’d never go down without a fight.

Roach beat him to it. The younger operator stood next to him, quickly subduing their foes in such a manner it reminded Ghost of their earlier days.

“Ghost!” Roach said breathily once the room had fallen into total silence. His gun clattered to the floor as he cupped the older man’s face. He pulled away from the sudden touch, raising his gun in alertness.

“It’s not safe-”

“No, it is. I watched them come up from the back. It’s just us. Trust me,” Roach interrupted. His eyes were hard. Among the few things in the world Ghost cared about, it was never letting that look form on the lovely face. 

“I wasn’t expectin’ you to come to my rescue so fast,” Ghost admitted quietly, his body relaxing, “I almost up and shot you.”

Roach’s face softened, “I saw you get pulled around the corner… God I-I never came down to your aid so fast.”

Ghost pressed their foreheads together, “I’m sorry, love. Didn’t mean to scare you like that. I think I’m lucky to have you watchin’ my back.”

“You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No, of course not,” He pulled the man into a tight, reassuring embrace, the silent void lingering around them. “Never in a million years.”


End file.
